


Midsummer Moonlight

by Ebhenah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Anal Sex, Apprentice!Lance, Changeling!Shiro, Destiny, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fae!Allura, Fae!Lance, Fae!Lotor, Faerie AU, Feast, Fellatio, Getting Together, Half-Sluagh!Shiro, Love at First Sight, M/M, M/M Sex, Magic, Midsummer, Party, Pooka!Lance, Reine!Allura, Roi!Lotor, SCRYING, Scars, Seers, Sex Magic, Warrior!Shiro, Wings, background lotura, blowjob, gala - Freeform, hedge maze, mlm sex, reflecting pool, royal gardens, shanceminibang, spooktacularshancebang, spookyshancebang, twin flames, verse Lance, verse Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29028219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebhenah/pseuds/Ebhenah
Summary: Half-human Shiro is the celebrated Champion of the Faerie court, Lance a talented new arrival apprenticed to the Royal Artificer. The Sluagh warrior crosses paths with the young Pooka at the Midsummer celebrations. It is love at first sight and they sneak off to the reflecting pond for some ‘privacy’.
Relationships: Background Allura/Lotor, Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20
Collections: SpookyShanceBang





	Midsummer Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Here With You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119144) by [Ebhenah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebhenah/pseuds/Ebhenah). 



> This fic was written as part of the Spooktacular Shance Minibang (and is very late- I am so sorry!) on [twitter](https://twitter.com/SpookyShance?s=09).
> 
> I was very lucky to work with two wonderful (and amazingly patient) artists: [magicfox](https://www.deviantart.com/magicfox3)  
> and [Maddy May](http://instagram.com/maddymaydoodles) [(twitter)](http://twitter.com/maddymaycreates)
> 
> Special thanks to [Lole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lole_cuzican/pseuds/lole_cuzican) [(twitter)](https://twitter.com/leandralena) for being awesome and going over this fic on absolutely zero notice! You are a gift!

Growing up with a secret had made Lance exceedingly good at schooling his facial expressions and body language to appear unaffected and calm, even when he was anything but. It was a skillset he was making much more use of at Court than he ever would have expected. Life here was such a whirlwind and every one of his new preceptors had stressed the importance of learning the subtleties of Court intrigue, lest he offend someone powerful.

The darlings of the Court, he was learning, were the Fae who could remain aloof and mysterious; who could hold entire conversations with artful movements of their fans, or carefully orchestrated body language. Inviting without revealing anything, and often appearing almost bored with everything that Lance found so breath-taking and wondrous about the castle.

His favorite was silversmithing and the tedious but rewarding process of converting the silver to mithral, but he had lessons in so many things- archery, spellcraft, swordsmanship, battleurgy, potions, herbcraft, warding, arcane languages, history, and more. There were no lessons in the social graces that seemed to be so vital to life among La Belle Hôte though. 

He found himself relying more and more on his experience with keeping his face still, serene. Keeping his smiles pleasant, his voice light. On good days, with the few regular patrons he was getting to know, he allowed himself to tease, or joke, or flirt. Testing the waters, so to speak. 

He _should_ have been raised here. He was _supposed_ to have grown up in these opulent halls and beautiful gardens among the creme de le creme of the magical talents born to the citizens of Le Reve. He’d been born with wings. Tradition dictated that babes like him would be fostered in the Court, protected from the dangers that preyed on wild talents, nurtured by the best teachers… separated from their families.

So, his parents had hidden him, taught him to dim his magic. Kept him safe in their small little hamlet near the Crystal Sea, under the watchful eyes of his siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles. He’d gotten very good at hiding, and he’d loved his life and his family.

But untapped magic was a danger in and of itself, prone to festering or souring. Rarely, the pressure of it being repressed and cloistered away caused fissures, magic venting like water spraying from cracks in a dam. As he approached adulthood, he could feel it, bubbling under his skin, seeking a release.

He needed better training than his family and his tiny community could offer. He needed to be at Court… so he’d staged a burst and passed himself off as a rare late bloomer, arriving at Court with his small bag, and best clothes and, for the first time in his life, his wings on full display.

Time movesmoved unpredictably within the tall white walls of the Palais Des Lions. The whorling power of so many talents in one place made it elastic and erratic. He’d thrown himself into his lessons, hours flying by in what felt like moments. It had been so fascinating and freeing to be able to test his own limits, that he’d barely noticed the moon waxing and waning, over and over. 

The chill of winter gave way to the warmth of spring, new life stirring in the gardens that he loved so much. He spent much of his free time among the fountains and paths and trailing plants that surrounded the Castle-proper. His favorite spot was a reflecting pool deep in the heart of the Jardin De La Reine. He spent many an idle hour sketching jewelry design ideas, or studying by the calm water, soothed by the sound of the gentle waves, the fragrant breeze through the plants, and the cozy glow of the sun on his wings.

Unsure of his skill with navigating the minutia of Court etiquette, he’d avoided the frequent parties, balls and other revelries since his arrival; but Midsummer was _different_. There was no bowing out, no claiming fatigue, no keeping to his quarters during the biggest and, arguably, most important celebration of the year. Attendance was a Royal Expectation of all the Fae sheltered within the walls of the Palais Des Lions.

He had not crossed paths with Reine Allura D’Altea or Roi Lotor Né à Daibazaal since he’d first been presented to swear fealty and be recognized as a member of the nobility. There was no real reason to think that they would pay him any heed at the feast or the ball- he was just one face amid hundreds, each more hauntingly beautiful than the last. Still, his nerves wouldn’t settle- because they _might_ \- and then what was he to do? Tell the Queen and her King stories of growing up in a little fishing hamlet? Talk about the finer details of making mithral jewelry? His life was so ordinary, what about it could hold the interest of anyone who’d spent their lives surrounded by all this opulence and beauty?

Sighing, he turned to and fro in front of the polished obsidian of the pier glass. It had taken some time to get used to seeing his visage in the dark surface, but true mirrors were too dangerous to be in unsecured areas. Too inclined to go wyld.

At least he _looked_ like he belonged.

He’d been unsure about the recommendation of the modiste, agreeing more out of a fear of causing offence than anything else. But she’d been right. The gown flattered his long limbs, and the color brought out the blue of his eyes. The sheer fabric shimmered clingingly over his torso and layers of it practically floated against his legs. It was soft and surprisingly warm for something that looked so thin. Delicate gold embroidery stood out against the pale blue, warming the overall effect to something closer to a summer sky than an iced-over pond and his skin gleamed.

His usual habit was to tie his long hair back, out of the way of the work he did during his studies. Tonight, though, it was loose, coaxed into a cascade of gentle waves that fell to his knees. The rich brown gleamed and the light caught on the few prismatic strands that were scattered through the deep chestnut mane making them glint and sparkle like dewdrops.

For all that he felt like an out of place newcomer, a peasant playing at nobility, the reflection in the obsidian was _almost_ the perfect image of a Court darling.

Almost.

A lifetime of hiding them meant that he often forgot that it was safe to relax and let the magic that formed his wings unfurl. Long-ingrained habit meant that he still frequently had to remind himself to show his true form. It was reflexive to be cautious, guarded, and before he left his quarters for the celebrations, he took a slow, even breath and smiled as power churned within him like a cresting wave.

His back tingled, little motes of light lifting from his skin and hanging in the air. Red and blue mist whirled together, taking on the full curves and delicate points that shaped his wings, coalescing around the soft lights into an ethereal but solid expression of the magic that filled him. More and more sparkling bursts of color joined them, and by the time he took his next breath his wings fluttered softly. He stretched, enjoying the freedom of movement afforded by the clever construction of the gown. 

A happy little trill escaped him.

He missed his family, but deception was _hard_ and here he could _finally_ be his true self. Here, among strangers, there were moments where he felt at home in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d loved his childhood and would never trade a moment of it, but it felt like he was finally on the path he’d been born to travel. 

* * *

A stinging swat of a closed fan to his wrist stilled Shiro’s hand as he reached to adjust the hem of the tunic that was all that covered him.

“It would be unwise to undo all our careful effort,” the Reine hissed, the teasing lilt in her voice robbing the words of any hurt.

All her ‘careful effort’ _indeed._

Shiro had arrived to wait outside the Royal Quarters of the Reine and Roi so he could escort them to the celebrations, expecting to function as their personal security for the evening- as was typical for large events. He _was_ the Reine’s Champion, after all. 

Instead, the door swung open to reveal Allura and Lotor with their hair in intricate braids decorated with flowers and gemstones, dripping with jewelry, and in very skimpy, floaty, draped silks. Lotor chuckled softly, and Allura stopped in her tracks, letting out a huge sigh. "Ohhhhh Shiro. This _will not do_!"

"It seems your Champion is unfamiliar with this evening's activities, dearest."

"It does seem that way, does it not?" Shaking her head at him, she gave him an assessing once over, her gaze focused and analytical. "We can work with this, though. Let's showcase some of that beauty of yours, shall we, old friend?"

She nodded and Lotor took Shiro's arm, the two of them pulling him into their antechamber. "I do like the boots!"

"Yes, the boots can stay," Allura agreed, "but the rest! Helmet, no. Also, no gloves- tonight is all about connection and fertility! Why in the Realms are you so hidden away? Sweet Dream! Anyone would think you were homely the way you are so shrouded from view!"

"Bare your arms entirely," coaxed Lotor, already moving to detach the armor.

"I need to be at the ready if a threat arises!" Shiro protested. The last thing he’d expected when the doors had opened was for the Royal couple to be stripping him out of half of his clothing- they were close friends of his but this level of intimacy was _unheard of_! Besides, he truly did need to be prepared in case of any unforeseen danger.

"Shiro, you and I have spent an eternity sparring together. My Champion you may well be, but I am a Warrior Queen. Do you have so little faith in myine own abilities?" Allura sounded _hurt_ and he was never able to deal with hurting her feelings, not even in the earliest days of their acquaintance.

He was not expecting that and it hit him like a punch to the gut. "What??" he spluttered, "no! No, of course not My Reine!"

"Ahh, then do you think I am unable to afford sufficient protection for my Bride should she need it?" Lotor asked, smiling like a Cheshire Cat. He liked Allura’s husband, truly he did… but the man possessed an impish humor and was overfond of needling Shiro at every opportunity.

"Certainly not! You are one of the most esteemed and decorated combatants in the history of Daibazaal! Fierce and ruthless!" Shiro tripped all over himself to assure them, barely even noticing that they were now working together to remove sections of his armor and otherwise adjust his attire. He _knew_ the Roi was taunting him, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to respond the same way he would, if it had been Allura, or even her sister Princesse Romelle. 

"Good," declared the Reine, "then please trust us, and the multitude of guards and knights in attendance tonight to ensure our safety. You take your duties far too seriously and I _insist_ that you let loose tonight and fully embrace the revelry..."

"And hopefully several of the _revelers_ ," teased Lotor, "lest our crops fail and birth rates plummet!"

Which was how he’d ended up standing beside the thrones in half of the clothing and armor he’d donned before leaving his own suite of apartments for the evening. The revelry was already well underway before they’d arrived- Allura and Lotor knew that their presence could make newcomers self-conscious so they always ensured that their arrival didn’t occur until a few hours after the feasting and drinking began.

Midsummer was far too important to risk souring the energy of the night with starstruck nerves.

Already, the dancing of the few people who ventured into the ballroom was decidedly carnal, and celebrants were drifting away to shadowy corners, or out into the night to find trysting spots that suited them. Idly, he wondered how many merrybegots would join the Court this year. The magic they created here tonight would nourish not just the grounds and nobility, ensuring growth and plentiful harvests for the Court, but also for all the lands and peoples in the realm. 

It was truly the most hedonistic of all the Court celebrations, and even though it had been eons since he’d fully indulged, it was one of Shiro’s favorite nights. The fae of the Court went all out, arriving in their best and most alluring finery, all their magic on full display. So much magic in one place, all with the same intent- to beguile, attract, seduce, enjoy, indulge- created a bubbling atmosphere of titillating curiosity. 

Rivalries and conflicts seem to fizzle out, and the fickle vanities his people were so prone to fell away into nothingness. Many a truce between opposing families had grown out of Midsummer celebrations.

Lotor pressed a goblet into his shadow hand and grinned at him, “you are meant to indulge tonight. Tis a Royal order! It’s been far too many nights since you’ve relaxed and truly enjoyed yourself and all the delights that our Court offers, Champion.”

“But I-”

“Shh… no arguments. Just drink. Relax. Enjoy.”

Sighing, he accepted the delicate crystal and took a sip of the fizzing, iridescent liquid it contained. His lips and tongue tingled as the flavor of ripe grapes, golden wheat, and lilac honey filled his mouth. His skin warming like he was standing beneath the summer sun at midday rather than the vaulted ceilings of the palace at moonrise.

“There,” laughed Allura, the sound dancing in the air, “that’s much better! Truly, friend, I cherish your diligence… but it saddens my heart to see you so isolated. It would please me so if you would just let yourself indulge tonight. Say you will?”

“Yes… I concede,” he sighed. “I will leave you and your husband to each other’s care and company… and… make myself part of the revelry. To please my Reine.”

“Such hardship,” observed Lotor, voice dry as he rolled his eyes. “Feast on the most decadent of delicacies. Drink the most heady libations. Dance to the refrains of the most gifted musicians. Partake of the most potent of our magicks. Embrace the most tantalizing and willing bodies our fair realm has to offer. We thank thee for your sacrifices this night, Champion.”

“Oh hush,” his wife scolded, “he agreed… do not be so…”

“So… what, dear heart?” Raising Allura’s fingers to his lips, Lotor arched one brow elegantly.

“So… _mordant_ ,” she sighed, shaking her head fondly.

“I thought my dry wit was highly favored by my cherished wife,” he countered, leaning close. 

The chimes of delight that escaped her, bordered on a giggle and Shiro knew from experience that it was best to avert his attention when he heard that particular laugh. Sipping more of the sunshine potion, he let his gaze wander over the celebrations. 

Midsummer was truly beautiful, each of the nobles that resided within the walls of the Court going all out to best showcase their unique charms. Magic glittered on the air, coalescing into softly glowing orbs of light that floated about the heads of the revelers. It was rare to see so many people flaunting wings and tails outside of high celebrations like this one. The many colors of wispy silks and satins were more typical, but even so, there was much more flesh on display, and it was clear that the goal of the wardrobe and adornment choices was to _entice_ rather than jockey for favor or intimidate rivals.

He’d grown up in the Court, had been Champion to the Reine for many years, as much as he appreciated the decadence that Midsummer brought, it was rare to impress him with mere beauty. Which was why it shook him so when he caught sight of an unfamiliar face that did just that.

Tall.

Lean.

Strong.

Cascading waves of the richest brown hair he’d ever seen which fell loose over a shimmering blue gown and set off the warm tones of skin that reminded him of lush velvet… and _those wings_! They were like the sky on a moonless night, dark but filled with glowing, swirling points of colored light if one was simply patient enough to really _look_. 

So distracted by the eerie beauty was he that he was scarcely aware that his attention had been noticed until his eager gaze snagged on eyes so bright a blue they seemed to be lit from within. His breath froze in his chest, and he felt a smile burst into being on his face. The beauty tipped his head slightly, a dazzling smile answering his own. Then there was a soft nod and those blue eyes drifted away, attention returning to the conversation Shiro’s interest had distracted their owner from. 

A heartbeat.

Another.

Then the stranger glanced back over his shoulder, and smiled at Shiro again, this time soft and coy.

“Oh-ho… it seems Midsummer has worked its wiles on our reticent Champion after all,” Allura teased. “I’ve never seen you so stricken by someone!”

“Who…” he breathed, blood singing in his veins, “who is _that_?”

“That,” laughed Lotor, “is Lance ferch Lann, formerly of a tiny, forgotten little fishing hamlet by the Crystal Sea. He’s a recent tenderfoot to Court, but shows much potential.”

“Ahh yes… our little late season butterfly! He’s only been here a few moons. I don’t think I’ve seen him at any of our festivities before. Quite charming, though,” Allura squeezed his arm, “and given how his gaze keeps returning to you, I would say that your interest is returned. You should approach him.”

Approach him?!?! Allura dramatically overestimated his confidence! A newcomer to the Court who showed such promise, _and_ was both charming and beautiful?? He must already be drowning in suitors! 

Shiro was far from adept in the complicated courtship rituals most of La Belle Hôte favored. Any attempt to woo such a darling would seem clumsy and off-putting in comparison.

And yet…

And yet, he found himself moving, leaving his customary spot beside the dias that housed the thrones.

And yet, he barely managed to hold his wits enough to excuse himself from the Royal presence.

And yet, he never let his gaze stray from the way that little specks of light dusted over those high, elegant cheekbones.

And yet, it felt like a physical _ache_ to be out of reach, unable to touch him.

* * *

“I do believe that is my cue to leave,” laughed the pixie Lance had been speaking with. She shook her hair out of her face, sending up a spray of sparkling pixie dust with the movement. The little motes of magic caught on the air and whorled like smoke before dissipating. She rested her hand on Lance’s forearm and grinned mischievously, “your admirer seems quite… mmm… intent. Enjoy the… festivities,” she added with a wink before slipping away.

He managed to turn back toward the dias just as the handsome Sluagh reached him. Actually, _handsome_ was woefully inadequate as a descriptor of this Fae! He seemed to loom over Lance, despite the fact that there was no more than a hand's span of difference in their height.

Shadows skittered over his pale skin, the deep grey of his eyes burning with magic. The intensity of his gaze seemed to contradict the shy smile on his perfect face. Lance had no idea how long the two of them simply stood there, watching each other, but eventually he was able to kick his brain into motion. “Greetings, Champion,” he said, offering up his hand and dipping into a curtsey when the fingers were clasped softly. Little shivers ran up his arm from the brush of lips over his knuckles. “Blessed Midsummer to you.”

“Blessings and bounty upon you,” came the response, the voice smoky and inviting. “But please… no titles… most people call me Shiro.”

“Shiro? I consider it an honor.” A little tug on his hand prompted him to regain his feet and he couldn’t resist the urge to meet those hypnotic eyes again. He was sure he was forgetting dozens of very specific protocols for his behavior, but he couldn’t quite make himself care. “I’m Lance. No title as yet.”

“Yes, Allu- I mean, the Reine informed me that you were still a tenderfoot. New to our hallowed halls. I trust you’ve been made to feel welcome?”

“Very much so. Everyone has been most kind. I’m afraid I haven’t done a lot of socializing, though. There’s been so much to learn!” 

“I’m not really one for feasts and galas, myself,” he answered, darkness dusting over his cheeks for an instant and then fading away again. “I usually only attend in an official capacity.”

Lance caught himself leaning closer. There was something about this man that drew him in. “Your official capacity as the Reine’s Champion? I think all Her loyal subjects must be grateful that you take your role so seriously. She is most beloved.”

“I believe that many think I am somewhat o’er zealous,” Shiro admitted, his expression almost bashful. “Especially the Reine, Herself.”

There was something so charming about that confession that Lance was unable to keep from laughing affectionately. “I’m the youngest in a large family… I chafe at overprotective elder siblings hovering nearby, even though I know they are motivated by care and concern. I wonder if that is similar to Her Majesty’s experience. Seems odd to consider that I might have anything in common with the Reine.”

“The demands of Her birth and station are unique, but I think that the Reine’s mind and heart are not so very different,” replied Shiro, stepping closer. “No one likes to be put in a position where they might be perceived as weak. You have such banked blue fire in your eyes, I do not doubt that you and our Fae Queen share a need for independence.”

“Oh, you are a charming one, aren’t you?” he sighed, letting his hand settle on Shiro’s arm. Magic crackled under his touch and he glanced down, only then noticing that the arm was not flesh, at all, but shadow given substance. The magic that formed the shape of muscle and bone shifted and churned, not quite opaque, but shrouding itself from close inspection. It reminded him of the large chunks of dragonfire glass that his mentor sometimes worked with.

“An old injury,” Shiro said softly, “long healed. I rarely think about it anymore.”

“Your own magic?” Lance asked, fascinated. Shiro’s small nod drew his eyes back up to that handsome face, “it’s beautiful. Uh… your resilience and your power, I mean… not... I don’t think the injury is beautiful. Not that it is _unattractive_ … just… oh Sweet Dream! This is why I avoid the formal gatherings! I am sorely unskilled in… all this!”

Shiro laughed, “by ‘all this’, I assume you mean the carefully choreographed tricks of language and manners meant to flatter and ingratiate without exposing your own weaknesses?” His free hand lifted, knuckles tracing along Lance’s cheekbone, the touch radiating a honeyed calm. “That is something I can relate to. I’m afraid I’m far too blunt a weapon for the tastes of most of these beautiful rapiers. But you? You’ll learn… I can tell. I can see it in you, already.”

“Rapiers?”

“Mmm… beautifully crafted works of art, but lethal. They shine and dance and you scarcely notice that they are so sharp they cut you into ribbons.” He seemed to think better of that and shook his head again, “the Court is full of wonders, and immense talents. In all the glory and festivities, it can be all too tempting to forget just how many powerful Fae reside here. I’m afraid, I’m somewhat inclined to suspicion.”

“You are the Reine’s Champion,” Lance answered, his voice soft, “I think that is likely an inclination that saves lives in your case.”

“You indulge me. You said that you’ve avoided the formal gatherings? Is this your first revel, then?”

Biting his lip, Lance nodded and managed to tear his eyes away to take in the opulence of the hall. He’d expected… something different. The dining halls were packed with people eating and drinking and flirting, but the big, beautiful ballroom seemed oddly quiet. “I thought there would be more dancing…”

“There will be,” Shiro replied, twining a lock of Lance’s hair around his finger and watching how the light caught on the few iridescent strands. “The moon isn’t even up yet… people are still seeking partners for the evening’s celebrations.”

“But the gloaming looks so pretty through the windows and the skylight, and the light is so lovely,” he sighed, “and no one seems to appreciate it…”

“Then shall we dance and pay the twilight proper homage?” He hadn’t really _moved_ but Lance could feel a shift in Shiro as he waited for the response. He’d gone still as death, even the shadows around them locking into place. It seemed like it _should_ feel ominous, but really, all Lance felt was the sense that the handsome Fae was _nervous_ … which didn’t really make any sense.

“You don’t mind?” Lance asked after a breath, “leaving behind all this… decadence… just to dance with me?”

“I consider myself lucky to have the most appealing guest in the whole of the gala on my arm.” If his smile hadn’t been _so sincere,_ Lance might have scoffed at that, but there was something about Shiro’s eyes that told him a bad response might actually… hurt.

“Is that so?” he responded, instead, his voice turning coy. “Well, I think I would be foolish beyond measure to decline an invitation from such a handsome… hmmm… admirer?”

“Suitor,” Shiro corrected softly, already leading him to the ballroom. “Admirer lacks the intent to pursue more of your time and attention.”

“So bold,” he laughed, giddy with delight. “I’m afraid I’m not all that fascinating… “

“And yet, I am thoroughly fascinated by you. I have been since I first laid eyes on you, and every moment since has been…”

“Magical?” teased Lance, settling himself into Shiro’s embrace for the dance. 

“-Inevitable… fated… destined… You feel… _we_ feel… forgone. Don’t you feel it? That _pull?”_

“It’s Midsummer,” he breathed, tipping his face up to gaze at Shiro, losing himself in the hope and passion that filled those smokey eyes. “The air itself is potent with… enticements…”

Shiro moved with a predatory grace, sweeping Lance across the floor effortlessly. His head tipped to one side and his brow furrowed, the confused distress on his features making something lurch in Lance’s chest. “I’ve lost count of the Midsummers I’ve partaken in here at Court, Lance ferch Lann… I’ve never responded like this before. Have you?”

All he could do was shake his head, because it was true. He’d never been affected by Midsummer like this before… and even tonight none of the Fae he’d flirted with before meeting Shiro had captured his attention this way. “It’s still dusk,” he said softly, “the night has barely begun… we don’t have to understand this to enjoy it. For now… let’s just… dance… and savor.”

“Savor,” Shiro echoed, pulling Lance a little closer. “I can do that.”

The other dancers moved like a game of cat and mouse, drawing closer and away as they danced. It was beautiful and enticing- meant to attract, to garner interest, to showcase their assets to their partner as well as to onlookers. They took advantage of the huge room, sailing over the smoothstone floor and showcasing themselves in the glow of the setting sun. That was _not_ how he and Shiro were dancing. He’d pressed himself flush against the taller Fae, soaking up the contact. They swayed and twirled to the music, but they never pulled apart. 

Why would they?

Why would they dim the sparkling attraction that shone brighter the closer they got?

Why would they fight against the gravity they seemed to be snared in, when it felt so _right_ to follow it?

Why would he _ever_ pull away from the racing tingles of desire that were set off by every tiny point of contact between them, or stop his hands from tracing the strong muscles of Shiro’s arms and shoulders?

Why would they do any of that when the music was so lovely, and the light so beautiful, and the company so entrancing?

He lost track of how long they danced. 

Barely retained the conversation they shared- stories of their childhoods, their time with friends, their work, their ambitions and hobbies and dreams.

By the time the ballroom filled up, they were overdue for some fresh air, and Lance could no longer deny that Shiro was right.

There was only one explanation for the way they reacted to each other.

They were destined.

* * *

He’d thought there was nothing more beautiful than Lance when he’d first seen him… then he’d been disproven by the way Lance looked on the dancefloor, crowded close against his chest and illuminated by orbs of magic in the fading sunlight.

But surely, _surely_ , nothing more breathtaking than Lance, flushed and beaming from the dancing, leaning into the slight evening breeze on the stairs to the garden, his face tipped up to the sky, eyes closed in reverie, bathed in moonlight. Those incredible wings of his were held high and back, the long drapes of the gown he wore and that gorgeous mane of hair fluttering softly behind him. 

Shiro couldn’t look away.

It was hard enough not to be _touching_ him!

HIs skin _ached_ at the loss of contact, fingers twitching with the need to reach out; a chill seemed to be stealing into every abandoned inch of his body despite the warmth of the night air.

He wasn’t _just_ beautiful, either. He was quick-witted and funny. Delightfully curious and excited about the work he’d been doing. Passionate about the intricacies of becoming an Artificer. Interested, truly interested, in Shiro’s work- and not just his tourney competitions. Lance had just as many questions about his training, his education, the magic he used to ensure the safety of his Reine, even how he ensured that he was getting the food and rest he needed to excel in his role at Court.

Just being in Lance’s presence filled him with a contentment he’d never felt before, but recognized. He’d seen it in others.

This was more than just magical enhancement of attraction. It was more than carnal.

Lance was his _home_ , he knew it with a certainty that felt like it should scare him, but didn’t. Aside from the bubbling excitement of arousal, he felt a rock steady _calm_ not unlike the way he felt during a fight when he knew he was going to win. 

This was it. 

It was as if he hadn’t even known he was stumbling over uncertain terrain until his feet had found the right path, and suddenly his journey was _easy_. This beauty before him was the Fae he’d been forged to share his life with, to protect and to find solace in. 

The certainty was as comforting as it was thrilling.

Lance sighed, turning to smile softly at him. “It’s a beautiful night. The air feels… charged… like right before a storm, but I don’t taste rain…”

“It’s the magic,” he explained, snapping out of his dreamy daze just enough to follow the tug of his heart and close the small distance between them, nuzzling his face into Lance’s soft hair. “All the most potent talents in the realm are gathered here… all focused on the power we need to raise tonight. You’re sensitized to it… we all are. On Midsummer, it’s palpable.”

Lance leaned back against him, practically melting into his arms. “So many people are leaving already though… that seems… detrimental to the purpose of the gala...”

He grinned, chuckling darkly, “oh, not at all… the magical circle is set far beyond the confines of the party proper. It surpasses the castle walls. The entirety of the Palais Des Lions and the gardens are all part of it. The people leaving are just seeking a space that is better suited to their own comforts. The gardens are a popular spot for trysting at any time.”

“We can leave?” There was an eagerness to Lance’s voice that made the singing in Shiro’s veins ramp up. “I have… a favorite spot. In one of the older areas of the garden… It’s quiet… well, quiet _er_ , I suspect we could still hear the music. But I don’t want to pull you too far away from… uh… your duty.”

“We can leave,” he assured Lance, touched by the consideration, “the Reine and Her Consort have insisted that I ‘indulge’ tonight.”

“Ah.” A tremor rolled through Lance’s wings for a heartbeat before they blinked into nothingness. The slender fae turned in his arms, tipping that perfect face up to Shiro’s gaze, sparkling with the little specks of light caught in the warm brown of his skin. “Then… if I may be so bold… Shiro, would you care to accompany me? And… share in the revelries with me tonight?”

His breath froze in his chest and he felt his shadows sweep over him, encasing them both. The lights and noises from the feasting dulled, a dark fog settling over the world. Lance gasped, but there was no fear in the Pooka’s scent or expression, only awe. Slender fingers lifted from his shoulder and he expected to feel them on his jaw or cheek, but instead they brushed over the leading edge of his wing, which were always present within his shroud of shadows.

“Shiro?”

His touch felt so good. Shiro rarely manifested his own wings, rarely even manifested his shadows without the presence of a threat. Something about Lance had triggered his magic- wait… No… he knew what had caused this… a desire for privacy. _Shiro’s_ desire to have Lance all to himself… it had prompted him to instinctively wrap them in shadows. “Yesss,” he answered, albeit belatedly, “it would be my greatest pleasure to revel with you tonight, little bluebird.”

“Bluebird?” His nose scrunched and he giggled, “that’s cute. I like it.”

“Then I’ll keep using it. You mentioned a favorite spot?”

“Oh! Yes!” And just like that, they were on the move. Lance burst through the shroud of shadows and sent it dissipating like smoke in the wind. He was laughing as he pulled Shiro along, gliding down the wide stairs with his gown and hair billowing behind him. They ran through the garden into the rose labyrinth. The night-blooming hedges could be treacherous in the right circumstances, planted, in part, as a defensive measure against pursuit by invaders. But neither Shiro nor Lance had violated their oaths of fealty and the magic imbued in their pledges protected them from the enchanted plants. So, they continued unharmed past the beautifully tended grounds to the wilder areas of the gardens.

“Through here,” Lance whispered, breathless, as he paused at a circular gate. Shiro knew this spot. It was… ancient. So old that it predated most of the grand castle they both lived in. “I love this place!”

“Lance,” he whispered back, cautious, “there’s wyld magic here… this is a…”

“Reflecting pool, I know,” his bluebird responded, voice bright. “But it likes me… and I think it will like you, too… annnd… it is _very_ secluded…”

The seductive promise in that voice silenced all of Shiro’s worries and he followed Lance through the gate. Immediately, the dark drew closer, wrapping around them like velvet. The pale, shimmery fabric of Lance’s gown glowed softly, easy enough to follow over the broken, uneven cobblestones, even if they hadn’t still been holding hands. “Lance? How do you know… it likes you?”

“Oh,” he answered, tossing a smile over his shoulder at Shiro, “water has always been fond of me. My mother was surprised I was a Pooka… when she was carrying me she thought I’d be a Merrow, like my sister, because the water called to her. I can hear it singing… hold on, I’ll show you.”

The reflecting pool was… beyond deep. The water never warmed and stayed dark, even at the height of midday. At night, its surface was as black as ink, marred only by a few lily pads floating against the far wall. It was a perfect circle, it’s only imperfections caused by the slightly uneven ring of rough hewn stone and moss that was built to contain it.

For generations, the rulers of Altea would consult the reflecting pool when faced with complex decisions. He’d stood, just inside the gate, when Reine Allura had stripped down to her shift and knelt on the ground beside the pool, scrying for guidance in the dark mirror of its eerily still waters. She’d been awed and a not insignificant amount of fear showed in her posture and the tiny tremble of her fingers. Still she’d stayed for the better part of the day, meditating on whether she should align herself with the Exiled Prince of Daibazaal through marriage.

Now, he couldn’t believe his own eyes!

Lance approached the edge of one of the most terrifyingly unknown magical nexuses in the entire realm like it was a tray of breakfast brought to him by trusted servants! Shiro could do naught but wonder at it! Was it foolhardy ignorance? Arrogance? Or… earned trust?

The air lacked the frisson of banked menace he’d felt that day with the Reine. Instead, the little enclosure felt… like a refuge of sorts.

Quiet.

Calm.

Curiously welcoming.

“Hello, my umbral friend. I’ve brought a companion to meet you. Are you feeling favorable to company on this Midsummer’s night?” Settling on the rough stone, Lance reached out over the water, the hanging fabric of his sleeve missing the surface by a mere hairsbreadth. 

Shiro didn’t know what disturbing the water would actually _do_ but his instincts told him it would be dangerous to try to find out. Soft, tinkling, chimes answered Lance and when the Pooka waved him over, he felt his feet responding to the gesture. His magical hand rested on Lance’s shoulder, prompting a smile and Shiro fell back on his Courtly training. “Greetings, I am most grateful to Lance for introducing us, and to you for the blessing of your presence in our Realm.”

...because this place was imbued with wyld magic, and wyld magic did more than simply act as a kind of bubbling spring for magical power… it helped shape every aspect of a Realm… and it was not unheard of for one to vanish in response to a slight or insult.

“It likes you,” Lance said when the chimes sounded again, “and, look! It wants to share something!”

In the unnatural, endless night of the water, Shiro saw images form. One, he readily identified as himself- his rarely shown mystical form. His features were thin, the shadows that clung to him making him appear stark, gaunt and ancient. Before his eyes he watched the not-reflection of him take flight, bat-like wings becoming feathered and spreading wide when the raven he’d become took to the sky.

The other, though, he presumed to be Lance. It certainly _looked_ like Lance, save for the shorter hair and blue woade protective spells painted on him. That image, too, transformed, a red and blue spectral cat bounding away to catch up and keep pace with the raven.

When Shiro lifted his hand, the images vanished, returning only when he touched Lance again. “You… Lance, you are a Seer!”

“Mmmhmm… they told me that when I arrived…” he answered distractedly, cocking his head to and fro like a puzzled bird. “I still think I like the idea of becoming an Artificer better though.”

“But Seers are _so rare!_ Hardly any are born and they are especially well-suited to-”

“And Sluagh are especially well-suited to being spies and assassins, but you choose to be something different.” Tearing his gaze away from the water he peered up at Shiro, “is it so hard for you to understand that I want to forge my own path?”

Clapping his mouth shut so hard and fast that it audibly clicked, Shiro shook his head. It _wasn’t_ difficult to understand, because he was one of the very few Fae who had made the same choice as Lance. “Of course not. Does this mean that I see what you see?”

“More like, you cannot see anything I don’t,” Lance answered, turning back to the water, again, “but sometimes I will see things meant for my eyes only. You wouldn’t perceive those things… and you don’t get the _knowing_ that I do.”

He took a seat beside Lance, still overcautious of disturbing the water but less frightened than he had been. Lance was a Seer, of course he’d gravitated to the reflecting pool! It was in his nature to seek out and find comfort in the presence of scrying tools.

His bluebird was such a wonder. 

“What knowing did our shared sights give you?” His voice was soft, curious, “if you choose to share it, I would consider it an honor. But I will not press or resent it if you keep that knowledge to yourself.”

Lance got a dreamy expression on his face and leaned closer, settling his weight against Shiro’s chest, his head tucked up under his chin. “Merely confirmation of something you have already said. Our destinies lie with each other- even the paths not trod lead to one another.”

“The best news,” he whispered, tipping Lance’s face up so that he could smile at him softly. “Midsummer has blessed me already.”

“Would you like to see my favorite place to sketch and think and unwind?”

“Isn’t this it?”

“This grotto, yes. But there is a spot here that gives me the prettiest view of the water, and is cozy and shaded… the moss thick and soft.” Even in the velvety dark, with very few orbs in the air to illuminate them, Lance’s eyes sparkled with mischief and interest. When he continued, his voice had changed, the pitch dropping and a flirtatious lilt shaping the words. “I think you would find it more comfortable than this stone.”

He nodded, his answer dying in his throat.

They hadn’t drifted away from the others to gaze at the water, after all… and suddenly, he was nervous.

He _ached_ to touch Lance. Taste him. Learn his body and lose himself in the connection they shared… but this was far more than simply raising power for Midsummer. He could feel himself falling in love with Lance. Sinking deeper into the vast ocean of love like a stone. He wasn’t fighting it, had no desire to rail against something so powerful, even if it wasn’t utterly futile to do so. Still, it added a significance and importance to their night that was starting to make itself known and he was all the more awestruck by Lance because of it.

Willow branches tickled against skin that was usually protected by layers of armor, but was currently bare by the decree of his friends and Rulers. The cool stones beneath his feet gave way to plush moss and Lance linked their fingers together, his skin warm against Shiro’s palm.

“S’dark,” Shiro observed, “I can scarcely see your face.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be more at ease in shadows,” teased Lance.

“Yes… but I can scarcely see your beautiful face…”

Lance giggled, dropping Shiro’s hand to snap his own fingers, sending out a little burst of sparks. They grew into pale blue motes of light. They were smaller than the orbs that appeared when enough magically gifted fae gathered, the light they offered weak and unsteady. A few blossomed into actual flames that flickered without heat or risk of spreading. “I modified a foxfire spell for when I work on mithral,” Lance said in a hushed voice, like they were hiding away from the world together… and maybe, in a way, they were. “Can you see my face now?”

“I can,” he answered, rapt.

Because Lance was just so breathtaking. It was as if he got more beautiful every time Shiro looked at him. It was just so easy to get caught up in drinking in the sight of him. Every delicate line of his features, every warm, wonderful color of his skin and hair, the seemingly endless array of smiles, the tiny blemishes that sparkled with magical points of light… all of it.

The moment crystallized and he felt his reality shift and lock, something unnameable falling into place just as Lance gripped the cloak Shiro had forgotten he was wearing and _yanked_. His eyes flew wide, then closed as long fingers cradled his jaw and supple lips pressed against his own. Magic flared to life within him, reaching out and finding Lance’s. A shower of sparks fell from their skin as he finally pulled his bluebird into his arms the way he’d wanted to all night.

He tasted of sweet, heady potions and rich desserts from the celebration, and something more subtle. Something intoxicating and intrinsically _Lance_ and Shiro let out a low moan. The fabric of the gown was impossibly thin; warmed by Lance’s body heat and soft under Shiro’s touch. It made him want to run his hands over that strong back, those long, graceful limbs.

So he did…

… and he was rewarded with the most enticing little shiver and a deepened kiss. 

But Lance was far from shy, and just as eager. His clever, nimble fingers easily found the clasps and fastenings for the remaining pieces of armor Shiro still wore. Thin metal and hardened leather fell away, the thick moss swallowing the sounds of their impact on the ground until he was left in naught but a tunic and his boots.

“Sweet Dream,” whispered Lance, presently occupied with dusting little kisses over Shiro’s face, “you are… mesmerizing… I can’t bear to stop… touching you…”

“I couldn’t bear it if you did,” he answered, letting his eyes drift shut so he could simply _bask_ in the way Lance could make him feel. “Need your touch... like air… like water…”

Lance made a little strangled noise and then they were kissing again. Some romantic part of Shiro wanted it to be gentle... sweet… but their attraction seemed to take on a life of its own. 

There was just so much magic.

The air was steeped in power.

Midsummer’s influence had seeped into everything, and now that they’d breached the surface of the deep pool of desire between them, it was flooding them with a speed and force that left him breathless. 

The hard press of Lance’s body against his own turned demanding, the drive to touch and taste becoming irresistible. His palms craved the soft heat of Lance’s body against them. Kissing him was a newly discovered sustenance, vital to his continued existence.

Lance was a contact high that he couldn’t bear to be parted from. 

So, he let himself be pushed back against the trunk of the willow tree, hoisting Lance just enough to allow for Lance to wrap his legs around Shiro’s hips. Even through the layers of gossamer, the intimate way they fit together was intoxicating. He ground into the blissful friction, Lance’s weight changing the smooth glide of the impossibly soft cloth that was the only barrier between them into something tortuous.

He couldn’t get enough, and eventually, need drove him to turn them so that Lance was the one pinned against the trunk of the tree. He kissed his way over Lance’s chest, leaving little damp marks in the delicate bodice of the gown that made him growl appreciatively. They looked so wanton and debauched, as if his lovebites were so potent and precious that they lingered even on Lance’s clothing, the way they did on the bared flesh of his shoulders and throat.

Reaching the wide sash at Lance’s waist required that he drop to his knees. The shuddery breath and darkening molten sapphire of Lance’s eyes when Shiro did that told him all he needed to know about what his next steps should be.

The first soft bite was to the skin just above Lance’s knee, slits in the skirt of the gown granting him easy access. Both his hands ran up strong thighs, pushing fabric away as he went. By the time he nuzzled into the soft weight of Lance’s balls, a needy, whine was escaping his bluebird, and the hard, thick cock that brushed against his face was weeping silvery pre.

“Shiro,” gasped Lance, squirming, “Sweet Dream!”

“Takashi,” he whispered, peering up past that tempting cock and perfect torso, to the beautiful face of his newly discovered beloved. “My True Name… it’s Takashi…”

True Names were closely guarded secrets at Court. Names held power, could be exploited, or used against you, after all. He’d never entrusted his to anyone before.

“ _Takashi,_ ” whispered Lance and the word felt like a caress, making him shiver. “Mine’s Lawnslot… Lawnslot y glan…”

“Gonna make you feel sooo good, Lawnslot,” he pledged, turning his attention to mouthing at the shaft of Lance’s hard on.

He loved the way that Lance cried out his name, thrilled and shocked in equal measure, when Shiro stopped teasing him with soft kisses, warm breath, and slow licks to draw that straining length into his mouth and down his throat. Loved the sharp little nails that dug into his hair and twisted, pulling his braid askew.

His bluebird was all delicate lines. Long limbs and dainty features… but he was _strong_. Ropes of muscle lay beneath that beautifully smooth skin and he was fair bursting with magic- pure and potent. He held Shiro’s head steady with an unshakeable grip and rolled his hips, blue eyes lighting up with banked power as he fucked into Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro wasn’t sure if the sparks in his vision were from spillover magic or because he was struggling to time his breathing to the instant when his whole throat wasn’t filled with thick, hot cock- stretching him out and filling him up so beautifully. Breath seemed like an insignificant concern in comparison to wresting more of those low, shaky moans and that gravelly praise from Lance.

His eyes watered and he always seemed to be a mere hairsbreadth from choking, but he pushed through, determined to take all Lance had to offer. One of his hands slipped beneath his tunic, wrapping tight around his own cock and making him moan.

Lance reacted immediately, yanking Shiro’s head forward to meet the jerk of his hips, emptying himself down Shiro’s throat in hot spurts. The sound of his own True Name being whispered so reverently felt like feather-light caresses over Shiro’s whole body at once. It made him giddy and awestruck, tipping him towards his own climax. 

Midsummer’s magic clung to them, seeping into their skin and filling their lungs. By the time Lance tugged him up to his feet and kissed him, the pooka was already growing hard again, fueled by the nature of the magic.

* * *

“Sweet, beautiful Takashi,” purred Lance, pulling Shiro’s tunic over his head and tossing it aside. “That was… wondrous…”

Quiznak, how was he so gorgeous?? 

Contrasted against the warm brown of Lance’s hand, his lover’s chest was pale and luminous in the low light. Shadows, so inherent to him, were stark against the soft, soft gold of his skin, showcasing the well-honed physique of a warrior and tempting Lance to trace out each and every dark path. Magic sizzled in the shadowed hollows and crevices of Shiro’s body, where the tamed, lingering wisps of his shroud rested. As he touched and explored, some of it clung to his fingers, leaving deep grey, smudged trails in his wake. 

The few scars on Shiro’s torso held the same traces of deep grey, and while one arm was translucent and ethereal due to being formed wholly by magic, the other limbs grew steadily darker in uneven whorls and tendrils that seemed to change and shift with Shiro’s every movement. He was still wearing his high boots, but Lance was sure that his toes were as black and iridescent as raven feathers, just like the fingers that rose to up Lance’s face and pull him in for another kiss.

He could taste himself in Shiro’s mouth, briney and a little like moss, and it was heady enough to make up for being distracted from his explorations. The night was young, and by the dawn, he planned to have committed every line of Shiro’s body to memory. Feasting on the kiss, head swimming with arousal and power, he stroked his hands over those broad shoulders, down that powerful back and palmed his ass.

Shiro moaned into the kiss, pressing back into the touch and Lance growled in response. A tiny twist of magic helped him make quick work of readying Shiro for him- he didn’t have the patience for a more leisurely pace this time.

Another night.

Under a different moon, he’d take his time. He’d spend hours slowly working his lover open with his tongue and fingers. Really savor every little shiver and moan before giving into his own aching need.

Not tonight.

Tonight was too… powerful. Too hungry.

Tonight, he let his magic caress and stretch Shiro and it was mere moments before Shiro was rocking his hips. Thrusting back against the phantom sensations that were easing the passage for Lance and letting little needful whimpers escape him.  
  


He bundled the layers of soft fabric of his gown out of the way, grateful for the side slits that reached his hip. Hooking his arms under Shiro’s knees, Lance lifted him easily. The trunk of the willow held them upright and steady and Lance held almost all of Shiro’s weight, reveling in the way _his_ warrior was eagerly surrendering control to him.

He’d never felt so _wanted._

Nor had he ever felt so _needy_.

Lance couldn’t seem to stop kissing Shiro, any time he managed to tear his lips away, Shiro’s fingers in his hair dragged him back in the space of a breath. They writhed together, the head of his cock dragging back and forth over the puckered flesh of Shiro’s entrance. It felt so good, all dewy and probably glistening from the enchanted lubricant, that he never wanted it to stop. So incredible to be tucked up tight against that perfect ass, nestled in the cleft between the cheeks, that it was almost impossible to find the will to stop, even just long enough to adjust his angle.

Still, his need to _bury himself_ in Shiro won out. He adjusted his hold, the mindless writhing gaining intent. 

Once. 

Twice.

Thrice, his cock hitched slightly on the rim, making Shiro buck in an attempt to capture him, to draw him in.

Thanks to his magic, when it happened for the fourth time and he sank into Shiro’s body, it was effortless. 

Blissfully slick. 

Warm and snug and pliant. 

Shiro shook in his arms, moaning out Lance’s True Name. The power of it washed over Lance like a spring rain- bright and fresh and bracing. He trembled and quaked with the force of the connection they shared, his heart singing in his chest. If he’d had any lingering doubts about what they were to each other, this would have laid them to rest.

This wasn’t just the hedonistic rush of Midsummer.

This was so much more than lust and pleasure.

This was _profound_.

_Divine._

“Takashi,” he whispered into yet another kiss, finally finding the wherewithal to draw back. It bordered on obscene, how good it felt to move. Lance moaned at the way Shiro’s body seemed to cling to him, clenching around him. “So beautiful… so… perfect…”

Something flashed in Shiro’s eyes, something Lance recognized. The urge to argue, to demure, to dismiss the compliment. The shadow hand tightened on his bicep and Lance _knew_. 

Court, and fae in general, didn’t have a narrow view on beauty… but _damage_ was shied away from. No one wanted to be reminded of how vulnerable they could be. It ruined the illusion of immortality, of safety. 

Shiro was half human, for most fae, he was exotic and beautiful. His scars showed not only his resilience and bravery, but his mortal heritage. He was sexy and admired, likely sought out often for meaningless dalliances. To most, he was beautifully dangerous, but not _perfect_.

Lance disagreed.

“You are,” he breathed between kisses. “You are so _perfect_ …” He rolled his hips, sinking back into Shiro’s body as he spoke, “going to spend an eternity showing you… proving it…”

“Lannce…”

“Perfect, perfect Takashi…” His hands were a little limited because of the way he had Shiro’s legs draped over them, but his _magic_ had no such restriction, so he reached out that way. Power curled up from his body like wafts of steam. They reached out to trail over Shiro’s pale skin, mingling with the remnants of Shiro’s shroud. “Sweet dream,” he moaned, fighting to hang on to his self-control enough to really enjoy this. 

The way their magic tangled and blended together sent tingles through Lance’s soul to match the ones that raced through his bloodstream. It was a delicate kind of power, one he’d never experienced before. It spilled over, creating a haze around them, millions of tiny caresses all at once. 

It was as if he could feel everything- even things he shouldn’t be able to feel. Like he was both of them at once. 

Shiro was tight and wet around him. His weight was solid against Lance’s arms. His flesh warm and salty against Lance’s tongue as he sucked until a little mark bloomed on Shiro’s throat. His hands clutching at Lance’s arm and shoulder.

Amazing.

But the blended magic meant that he could _also_ feel the bark scraping against Shiro’s back with each thrust as if it was happening to Lance. Arms, strong and steady under his knees. A hard cock splitting him open and hitting every sweet spot with unerring precision. Sensations he was feeling _through_ _Shiro._

Astounding.

“Lance,” panted Shiro, already sounding wrung out from pleasure, “I feel… you feel…”

“I know… me too,” he gasped, picking up the pace and being rewarded with a burst of pleasure so strong it made them both cry out.

There was no way that he was going to last with the way their magic was doubling the sensations. It was too deliciously overwhelming to resist.

Thank the ancients it was Midsummer and its sway guaranteed that their night would be filled with lovemaking! Otherwise this tryst would be over far sooner than he wanted it to be.

Lance shifted his hands, grabbing Shiro’s hips and changing the angle ever so slightly. On the next thrust Shiro let out a little whine and Lance could feel how rapidly they were approaching that precipice. 

Surrendering to the demands of their bodies, Lance drove himself home, hard and fast. He lost track of who said what, which touch came from whom. It was just a frenzy of passion, each touch adding to the intensity until he was sure they wouldn’t survive it.

He heaved harsh, ragged breaths, his whole body quaking as he pounded into Shiro’s beautifully yielding ass. Foreheads pressed together, they were too caught up to even kiss. It was all they could do to hold on to each other, gazes locked.

“Close…” gasped Shiro, as if Lance couldn’t feel it.

“Me, too,” answered Lance, as if Shiro wasn’t acutely aware.

Their mouths crashed together in a rough kiss when they shattered together, Lance filling Shiro with hot jets of cum as Shiro painted their torsos white. 

The fog of magic around them dissipated as they drifted down from that peak, letting them settle wholly back into their own bodies again. Lance couldn’t bear to be parted from Shiro just yet, though. He ground his hips, savoring the little twitches and spasms that squeezed his oversensitive cock as he rained little kisses over Shiro’s face.

“You’re so beautiful,” whispered Shiro, still a tad breathless. “Never seen anyone as beautiful as you…”

“That’s good to hear, Takashi, since yours is the only opinion that matters to me anymore” he answered, taking the opportunity to kiss Shiro again, all soft and dreamy from afterglow.

It was hard to believe that their acquaintance was so very recent. That he’d been skeptical when Shiro had called them forgone the first time. 

Because now? 

Now, he felt like they’d always known each other. Always loved each other. Always created something together that was so much more than the sum of its parts.

It wasn’t the magic of Midsummer working on them, it was something deeper, something so much more profound. Something so incredibly personal and private.

Shiro was the home his heart had been born to find.

* * *

The sky was still pink from the dawn when they left the garden. The halls of the castle held a surprising number of revelers in various states of debauchery, most of them sleeping off their assorted vices from the night before. Lance giggled adorably as they picked their way around one particularly large group on the way to Shiro’s quarters. 

They hadn’t slept yet, and Shiro was so thoroughly sated that he didn’t even miss the rest. He’d lost count of the ways they’d indulged themselves- although he was fairly certain that taking Lance from behind that first time would remain a cherished memory for the rest of his life. He’d had all the soft silks of Lance’s skirts bunched up and wrapped around Shiro’s fists so he could use them like reins to yank Lance backwards to meet his thrusts. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the way his name had sounded on Lance’s lips when he’d found just the right rhythm. 

He was pretty sure that gown was completely ruined after that.

It took longer than usual to get to his rooms, because he kept getting overwhelmed with the need to touch Lance again. More than once, the touching had turned into kissing… which led to much more intimate touching. It was so hard to pull away from his bluebird, even if it was so they could find an actual bed to spend the day in.

Still, they’d gotten there eventually, and after a cursory clean up, he left Lance to soak in the tub while he checked on the Royal couple. Unlike the rest of Court, the Reine had obligations that needed to be filled at dawn to ensure that the power raised during the night was harnessed properly. Shiro had been the Reine’s Champion for so long that he was confident in her routine and knew that he’d be arriving in the small gap between the ritual and her retiring for the day.

Sure enough, when she answered his knock on the private corridor that connected his rooms to the Royal Suites, she was still wide awake. Her eyes were glassy in the way that lack of sleep made them, but she was smiling and relaxed. 

“Oh ho ho! Look at you!” she laughed, practically sparkling with delight while waving him into the opulent sitting room. “Darling! Come see our friend! He’s _smiling_! This warrants a witness.”

“I smile,” Shiro grumbled without any ire, taking a seat across from his friend.

“Not like _that_ ,” teased Lotor, draping one arm across Allura’s shoulders and tugging her close as he joined her on the settee. “That is a very different smile than I’ve ever seen grace your features, Champion.”

“I surmise that you have spent a most pleasant evening with our little late season butterfly?” Allura’s expression was neutral, but Shiro recognized the mischievous glint in her eyes. Not only was she enjoying putting him on the spot, she was clearly planning on tormenting him about Lance for as long as possible.

“Mmm… yes… you were quite taken with the tenderfoot Pooka. I was impressed that he managed to coax you onto the dancefloor.”

“I dance,” he pointed out. “It’s not that uncommon!”

“You dance when _we_ dance, so you are close at hand if we are in need of protection. You danced with Lance ferch Lann without us. _That_ is very uncommon.” Lotor shrugged, hiding his own smile by popping a bon bon from the crystal dish on the small side table into his mouth. 

They each quirked one eyebrow up in question. To most fae, the synchronicity of the expression was downright unnerving, but Shiro was accustomed to it. Despite her initial concerns about allying with him, Lotor had turned out to be a wonderful Consort to Allura. He brought his own experience and opinions to discussions, but they were so often in agreement that it spilled over into their mannerisms. It was not uncommon at all for them to mirror one another in their responses, especially in the privacy of their chambers. 

Currently, they were as relaxed as they ever allowed themselves to be with company. Shiro knew how rare it was to see the Royal couple so at ease and informal. He treasured the fact that they viewed him as a genuine friend. That they trusted him as much as they did. This was not a conversation between rulers and a member of their Court. It was one between friends, so they were waiting for Shiro to share whatever details he chose rather than asking him specific questions he might feel obligated to answer.

“It was,” Shiro started, fighting the urge to sigh… and failing spectacularly. “Oh, he’s wonderful!”

Allura clapped in sheer delight and Lotor nearly choked on the bon bon.

“I _knew_ you’d like him!” she crowed. “Didn’t I _say_ that Shiro would like him when he was presented, darling?”

“You did,” croaked Lotor, clearing his throat before turning to Shiro. “She did. She was very vocal in that opinion.”

“He’s,” another failed attempt to stifle a sigh, “my… we are twin flames.”

“Oh my word…”

“You are certain?” asked Lotor, leaning closer, “twin flames are so rare…”

Shiro nodded. “I knew almost immediately… but then… the reflecting pool. Lance was able to show me what he saw in it. It was very clear. We are destined.”

“Oh, Shiro! Dearest friend, my heart sings for you,” gushed Allura, catching his flesh hand in both of her own and pressing it against her chest so he could feel her heartbeat. “No one is more deserving!”

“Congratulations, Champion,” added Lotor, smiling brightly, “this is joyous news.”

“Gratitude, Highnesses,” he answered. Some small, distant part of himself relaxed and it was only then that he realized that he’d been worried that they might be less than pleased at this turn of events. He should have had more faith in his friends.

“We should celebrate! Let me get us drinks!” insisted Lotor, only to have Allura catch his arm and shake her head. 

“Drinks?? On the morn following Midsummer? Not all of us have your constitution, beloved!”

“Another time then.” Crestfallen, Lotor sighed and rested his hand atop his wife’s. “You must allow us to throw you both a feast to celebrate your union!”

“Umm… that’s a very generous offer…”

“Relax, friend- we know that is not a decision you can make without discussion. Just know the offer stands… You and Lance are part of our Court, and twin flames are,” she smiled wistfully, no doubt remembering her own parents. “Twin flames are precious. They are a blessing to their whole Realm!”

“Of course,” agreed Lotor, “we would never expect an answer without Lance’s input. Where _is_ Lance at the moment?”

“He’s… in my rooms. I left him to soak in a bath- he’d never been to a true gala before. I suspect he is ill-prepared for the aftermath.”

“Well then, we’d best let you return to him,” Allura said, her smile softening the crisp tone so she sounded resolute, not dismissive. “We are all in need of rest and he is unfamiliar with your quarters. I’m sure he is eager for your return.”

“It’s been mere moments,” he laughed, despite the tug in his heart that he already felt pulling his attention back to his lover.

Allura caught his face in her hands, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “you only just found one another. Go, friend. Enjoy this. Falling in love is… such a gift. Savor it.”

“I think that might have been a Royal decree,” mused Lotor.

“Yes! A decree! You must listen to me now,” she giggled. “Shoo!”

He would never defy a Royal decree, not even one made in jest and just between the three of them. So, he rose, gave a small bow, bid them pleasant dreams, and slipped back through the hidden door to the private corridor.

Lance was barely clinging to wakefulness when he returned. So, Shiro helped him out of the tub and into one of Shiro’s softest tunics. He watched, rapt, as Lance brushed out his long, dark hair and wove it into two long plaits before climbing into bed beside him. Sleepily, he recounted his visit with the Reine and Roi. Lance let out a little strangled sound and mumbled something about waking from a dream.

It was so adorable that Shiro couldn’t resist using the last of his energy to catch Lance’s delicate chin and tip his face up to kiss him softly. 

“I love you, Takashi,” Lance whispered, all soft and drowsy, barely able to keep his eyes at even half-mast.

“I love you, too, Lawnslot y glan. With my whole heart,” he managed to answer before sleep claimed him.

~Fini~

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is technically an AU of my Fae AU. This is the same world as my fic "Here With You" is set in, but in that story Shiro was raised in the human world, without magic, with his father until he accidentally ended up in the fae realm as an adult. Lance in that story was fostered to the Court as an infant and raised with Allura as one of many siblings. They met and fell in love when Allura sent Lance to get to know the new arrival and ensure that he was no threat to the Crown. 
> 
> In this fic, Shiro was born with magic and raised by his mother in the fae realm and Lance grew up with his birth family, only coming to Court as an adult. The vision in the reflecting pool is a nod to the characters as they exist in my larger Fae AU.


End file.
